Walking Amongst Corpses
by Unknown.Scriptor
Summary: "My new life didn't start off like most probably should have." That's how it always begins, isn't it? The day your entire life is flipped sunny side fucking down and all you can do is watch. I didn't ask for this and I don't even know how it happened but now I could not go back and change it. This will be my life. But I will fight because video games have taught me to live.


_A/N: First fanfiction, first time using this site. I'm sorry for this being an awful first chapter and introduction, but it's just something. There are bound to be a lot of mistakes. More than a few grammar and spelling. I'm sorry again. I guess we'll see how this goes, right? Right._

_Disclaimer: I don't own Cry or any youtuber. I don't own the games mentioned. _

Chapter 1: Artificial

**_Cry's POV_**

My new life didn't start off like most probably should have. That being a annoying alarm clock blaring in my ear while the sun's bright rays filtered in to snake between my fingers into my eyes. Or the possibility of someone downstairs probably making breakfast, french toast and a shit load of syrup, while the morning news would drift and muffle to sound like an annoying cartoon featuring a boy who can't kick and football because of a girl.

Maybe I would have woken up and dragged my feet across the cool floorboards toward the fantastic aroma and prepared for work while my flatmate continued to watch the news with a bored expression, complaining loudly about how the world was nothing but politicians grumbling about how we weren't robots ready for every command they had. Perhaps I would have agreed and joked about how if this was video game featuring a zombie apocalypse they would be the biggest dumbasses because they wouldn't be all high and mighty then.

Probably this. Perhaps that. Maybe so. It was a lot of speculation on an artificial life that wasn't today and was definitely not going to be tomorrow.

Because when I awoke, I certainly didn't hear an alarm clock go off nor did those heavy clouds break up to spare a ray of sunlight. Only stale air of reeking clothes and spoiled food filled my nostrils. Humidity and heat were the only welcoming aspects this morning. Pulling away sheets that stuck too comfortably on my otherwise cool skin, I noted that my alarm clock didn't go off because there was no electricity to begin with. The only noise I was able to hear was a low growl from my stomach and a few tangent buzzing of flies finding their meals with eager starvation.

This scenario seemed all to similar to how a few games started. I pinched my skin for good measure but I didn't wake up. No, this was real. I just hope it wasn't what I thought it was. I really hope so.

When my feet touched the boards, they were warm and stuck to my sweating skin like blood to a corpse. The humidity had done a number and a few of them glistened with condensation of this encased room. The power has been out for a while then. All night possibily.

Peering in the direction of the exit, I heard nothing to make this morning a lot less tense than it was. The door was cracked open but no mischievous expression met my own. No snicker or snide remark was given. All was quiet. All was eerily dead and surrealistic. It only seemed to escalate as I walked down the hallway towards where my flatmate would be situated.

But he wasn't there. In fact, I could find nothing to prove he was even here. That made me more edgy as I continued to dwindle from room to room.

The sitting room was bare and the TV silent. The PS3 attached was still lazily organized in front of its screen. The couch and desk unoccupied and completely ignored. A few cans of Dr. Pepper and Diet Coke littered the carpet with a few stains to make their marks known. But those were old. Not recent. Everything was desolate and completely lacking any aspect of people living here.

The kitchen was the same except for one anamoly. One little change that only proved that I was certainly not anymore safe than mice to a cat or rabbits to wolves.

As I neared the room with a barely hinged door, I flinched at the blood splatter decorating it, sporting a few hour old hand print. Something was in there. It might be my flat mate. It might be a complete stranger. It could be something else that I would rather not have raiding and making noise in my kitchen. Of course as I neared the walls, I couldn't help but thinking that if the man wants that kitchen, he can have it. My spite of bravery was dissolving leaving me weary and concerned.

Growls and guttural noises reverberated through the thin plastered walls. Moans and creaks followed each step and drag. Whatever was in there couldn't possibly be human but I didn't want to believe it was the other… possibility. Nonetheless, I refused to look inside the room, fear gripping me. I didn't make a noise to make myself known. For some reason my senses told me to keep quiet. That this was not a dream and definitely not the reality I thought I knew yesterday.

But if I wanted to be certain of where I stood in this new world, I would have to see what was in there. Or at least guess what it could be.

Taking a deep breath, I buried the fear in determination.

I pushed the door open gently and flinched back to the wall with heavy, silent breaths when it creaked slowly the entire time it moved. I knew I should have fixed that door. I knew it and now that little moment of relapse was going to screw me over. Royally.

The noises stopped before a low, dragging growl appeared to get closer to me. It was a hungry, animalistic noise. All I could think of was every god forsaken zombie game I played. How I would laugh because it wasn't real.

This wasn't the case. This wasn't some pixelated game that stated "Game Over" when you got ripped at the throat and then spawned you from your last save point. This was reality and the cold, hard truth of it was like ice in my veins.

The noises got closer. I could hear the dragging of feet and the clutter of cups and glasses as whoever was in there knocked over dishware and drawers. The sounds felt like they were crawling towards me, a shit eating grin on its face as it realized my doom would be because of it. My breaths quickened but I concentrated on keeping them quiet, thinking of every other game where that was the key to survival. Silence and stealth. I could do that, right?

I just needed a weapon. Something just in case this turned sour real fast. Glancing around me, I grabbed a pair of scissors and scowled at the limited choice. A gun would have been perfect, but who keeps guns lying around in their flat for anyone to see? This wasn't a video game where my inventory was already stocked with ammo and ten types of guns to choose from with a bow and arrow or grenade. This was real life and in real life in a flat of two very single men, a pair of long, sharp scissors was going to have to do.

My physique was another off setting aspect in this. I wasn't like Joel in the Last of Us. I didn't have the skills and build to maneuver into a arm lock and jab a shiv in the neck. I was lanky, skinny, a twig. Shit, I couldn't remember if I had anything but a flat chest hidden behind a hoodie. No six pack on this pale slab of skin.

I resisted the urge to chuckle only because I knew this wasn't the time nor the place for such amusement.

Well, fuck. If I had known that in a day the whole world would go to hell I would have started working out years ago.

Yeah… nah. I would have still played video games. I probably would have just saved some money to buy me a ton of guns, ammo, knives, or katanas… and probably would have lacked any skill in using them. I would still be in this fucked up situation with a pair of scissors to guide me.

A growl next to me ear is what made me jump out of my reverie and released me of any stealth I had when a glass shadow box full of limited edition video game figurines fell to the floor and shattered. I tumbled after it and fell to the floor, cursing as the wood made contact with my soon to be bruised body.

But that was besides the point. The point was that I made noise because I didn't concentrate at all. Fuck.

Here comes to walking dead. I hate my life right now.

As predicted, the dead man turned around the corner and looked at my fallen form on the floor. I should have moved. I should be jumping to my feet and running to the nearest room or attacking him. Common sense was glaring at me and smacking me upside the head, waiting for that one hit that would make me come to terms with this. The hit hadn't come yet.

In front of me was my flat mate; was being the word. It wasn't him anymore. What was there was a man with jagged, blood caked clothing and a face that had the skin falling off with every step. His left arm appeared broken, but that was the only injury. Otherwise, he was like my mate except he was dead. Dead as a piece of road kill on the highway.

Common sense finally made its mark when I narrowly missed his slash at my legs by shuffling back and getting to my feet. I could run. I could and I would live. But this was my friend, my flatmate. I couldn't leave him this way. That's not how I roll and I know he would probably be grateful in some sense of an afterlife if I released him from this horror.

But every time I thought of that, of these sharp scissors jarring into his skull, I could feel my nerves get disconnected. Morality was fighting with survival and I knew that I didn't have the time now to worry of it. I wouldn't have any time if those yellowed nails curled under my skin. I wouldn't be able to calmly translate this into a decision if I was infected with whatever disease is affecting the world, or so I assumed. I don't think one zombie spawns out of no where and no one else is one. That's not how it works.

Living and surviving a zombie apocalypse was how it worked.

If I want to live, I have to fight. That's the only way. If I falter I will die and that would make my entire life completely useless.

I'm sorry, man. I really am.

Steeling my nerves and pushing emotion and memories to the back of my mind, I rushed forward and kicked the leg under the zombie. I watched it fall and moved to the left when it tried to get me. When the thump was heard, I took a deep breath and stabbed the scissor blades into his skull over and over until his face was beyond recognition.

His arms had stopped moving after the first hit.

Moving back from his corpse, I took a shaky breath and nearly gagged when I finally took in the decomposing smell I had missed in my stupor of ignorance. It was so heavy, so thick. Like an aura expelling death. Black blood mixed with thin strands of red coursed from his skull across the floorboards. For a second I saw what he used to be and for a split of that second, this felt too much like murder.

So I ran back to my room. I locked it and slid down its protesting form, cradling my head in my hands. A few stray tears fell from my eyes and slipped through the gaps in my fingers but I quickly stopped them and pulled myself together. My hand, speckled with blood splatter, ran through my hair as I tried to sort this out. For once I was glad that I was just a little selfish. Just selfish enough to save my skin and not worrying of a proper burial or funeral. It simply wasn't the time.

No. I can't be freaking out. That would make me vulnerable. I have to be strong. More importantly, I have to keep a level head. Maybe leaving this place would be the best course of action. Grab some food, some water, other pieces of shit I might need and then leaving. It's day time. Zombies aren't as active at night, right? Right.

Standing, I dusted off my pants and cringed when I saw my face in the mirror in front of me. My face screamed murderer and I didn't want anyone else to see that. If there was anyone else.

I walked to the closet and opened it. Inside, tucked in the back next to my games, was a mask. It looked like a poker face. Maybe once this was a trend I used to describe me, but now I was going to use it to protect me. If anything, it would make this smell just a little less potent.

No hesitation rendered as I pulled the mask over my face and adjusted it to see out of the two black mesh holes made for sight.

Everything else after that was almost robotic. I switched clothing so I was wearing a Walking Dead shirt sporting Clementine and Lee with a faded army green hoodie that I pulled over my head to cover my brown locks fully. A pair of black pants that could be described as skinny jeans and red converse later and I was ready. Tossing my ipod, charger, headphones, first aid kit and a few pair of shirts into my bag, I swung the half empty sack over my shoulder.

Everything else would involve me going back out there.

Cursing under my breath, I nervously adjusted my mask and walked out. Nothing changed in the fifteen minutes I was gone. It was the same. Everything went well but only because I didn't kill him in the kitchen and we luckily had two entrances to get in.

I threw a few cans of beans, fruit, and as much bottled water into my bag before zipping it up and placing it comfortably over my shoulder.

'Weapon' my mind whispered and I wanted to gag. The only weapon was inside my friend's skull. Unlike most households, we didn't have actual silverware and relied on plastic utensils and pizza deliveries. That made those scissors the only secure firearm unless useless nerf guns count.

Which they don't unless in a stupid, artificial video game.

My friend was exactly how I left him. Dead and permanently so. As I neared him, I already spotted maggots and flies beginning to mold into his flesh and resisted the urge to swat them away. He wasn't him anymore. He wasn't alive.

Wrapping my fingers around the rubber handle of the scissors, I yanked and they came out easily. I quickly rubbed the blade against the nearby sofa to get rid of the blood on it before reaching for the tape and wrapping several layers around the blades to keep them fixated.

Everything was ready. But I wasn't.

I looked down at my flatmate and I felt like a murderer.

This didn't feel right. I shouldn't leave him like this. I have to say something to make this good man more at peace if possible.

"Hey man," I whispered into the stale, decomposing air, "Sorry about this. I should have been the one to go. Really. No lies here. Shit, you were even better at zombie survival games than I was. You deserved to live. I'm probably going to waste what life I have been given by the first walker I see." I chuckled but it wasn't funny. It couldn't ever be funny. "I wish I could have been there, man. But now it's too late. Always to fucking late, right?" I sighed and continued softly.

"Just know that you were one hell of a fucking flatmate and I wouldn't regret anything of that. I will remember you and will tell my kids and their fucking grandkids about this awesome man who said one day we would be robots or be over run by aliens. They may laugh, but you know what? They will remember you. I know I will."

Shuffling, I sighed and ran a hand through my hair again, "so yeah. That's all I have to say, man. Well, bye." Turning on my heels, I walked out the door of our little flat and into the clean air of nature and the hell I would be given to continue breathing it. The farewell was my usual youtube ending, but this time it held a sense of finality to it. Like every time I said it, it would be the end for that person.

I didn't like it. Just like I didn't like the feeling someone was eying my back.

The entire time until the moment those doors closed, I felt his eyes follow me with one word.

Murderer.


End file.
